Mute
by Maddiecake
Summary: A dream foretells the arrival of seven strange and terrifying visitors...
1. Prologue

_Would you like to know what's fun about this? I'm going to Italy tomorrow, so I have a real reason to not update this thing. I own nothing in this story, since the idea was taken from the episode _Hush_ from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I promise I'm not going to stick too closely to their plot._

Ponyboy's head dropped forward as the warm breeze coming from the open window and the monotonous voice of his history teacher lulled him into a light sleep. He could smell the freshly cut grass outside, the blooming flowers… if he listened close enough, he almost thought he could hear the frantic movements of a bee's wings as it sped around the classroom.

"Mr. Curtis, am I _boring_ you?" The harsh voice jolted him awake, and he looked wildly around the room. At long last his eyes settled on his teacher, who glared down her nose at him. At that moment he was struck by just how much she resembled a hawk, but embarrassment soon rid that thought from his mind.

"No ma'am," he murmured, attempting to discreetly wipe away the drool that had accumulated on his desk while he had been dozing.

She gave him one last hard, withering look that made him want to crawl beneath his desk and die, before heading back to the front of the room. Ponyboy's eyes fell to his desk, running over his carefully-written notes as if to make sure everything was still there.

Twenty minutes and one unbelievably loud bell later, he was practically running from the classroom. He hurried down the hall, books clutched to his chest, desperate to make it to his locker before his next class.

Johnny was there, leaning against the door and looking every bit like the tough hood people made him out to be. When he caught sight of Ponyboy he grinned, raising a hand in greeting. Ponyboy noted briefly that the hand was messily bandaged, and made a mental note to ask his friend about it when they were less pressed for time.

"Hey man, how's it goin'?" Johnny questioned, seemingly oblivious to the frantic, hurried look in Ponyboy's eyes.

"Can't talk, Johnny, I gotta get to English… if I'm late again, Darry'll kill me…"

"You could always skip," he replied almost hopefully. Johnny ditched class whenever he was able, but unless he had someone to leave class with, he almost always ended up coming back. "It'll be fine, Pone, nobody'll notice…"

The bell.

Ponyboy pulled his hand out of the locker as if it had just burned him. "_Shit_… I gotta get to class… where's my English notebook… hey Johnnycake, have you seen—"

The hall was empty, the silence thick and suffocating. He looked around, absentmindedly rifling through his locker in a halfhearted attempt to find his notebook.

"_Can't even shout…_"

The voice echoed in the hallway, young, mournful. The hairs on the back of Ponyboy's neck stood on end and a shiver passed through his body. Something wasn't right here.

"_Can't even cry…_"

Closer. Ponyboy resisted the urge to look around, for fear that by doing so he would somehow fall victim to whatever it was that lurked behind him in the empty hallway.

"_The Gentlemen are coming by…_"

He turned ever-so-slightly, confusion replacing only a small bit of the fear that held his inside in a cold, vice-like grip.

"_Looking in windows, knocking on doors_... _they need to take seven and they might take yours."_

Finally he allowed his body to turn, ready to face the horror that waited for him. However, he was almost disappointed when he saw only a small girl standing a few feet away. She stood, staring straight at him, an ornate red and gold box in her hands.

"_Can't call to mom, can't say a word... you're gonna die screaming but you won't be heard._"

Ponyboy sat up in bed, drenched in sweat, heart beating like a drum.


	2. Chapter I

_My excuse this time (not much of one, I'll admit): things are crazy.  
anyway, I don't own any of this. Special shout out to Britney Spears for being so damn addicting.  
**EDIT:  
**kudos to steph36 for pointing out that there wasn't a break between day and night in this chapter. Guess deleted it or something, but there _was_ a break. Thanks again for pointing that out!_

Ponyboy sat at the breakfast table, pushing his eggs around his plate with little to no enthusiasm. The fact that it was a Friday wherein school was not in session did not seem to faze him, rather, the notion seemed to depress him even more. No school meant no distractions. Granted, he could find plenty of distractions within his house, but not on a _week day_.

The door opened, rusty hinges giving it away, although the visitor remained a mystery and Ponyboy didn't quite have the energy to get up and see who it was. It could have been Jack the Ripper for all he knew, and there he was, a sitting duck.

Fortunately, it was only Johnny.

"Hey Pone, whatcha starin' at your eggs for?"

Ponyboy looked up, his gaze challenging. "What, you want some?"

Johnny, sensing that Ponyboy wasn't serious, eyed the eggs with something akin to longing. "Ionno, man, they look pretty _delectable_ to me."

"Triple letter score."

"Ha ha. Gimme yer eggs."

Ponyboy stared at Johnny, his gaze challenging his friend, and took a big bite of his (unpleasantly cold) eggs. Some of the yolk dripped out of the corner of his mouth and landed on the table, but Ponyboy didn't notice as he forced himself to swallow the ice cold breakfast. Johnny wrinkled his nose.

"Nevermind, Pony, keep your eggs if you want 'em that bad."

"Sorry John… I can make you some more if you want?"

Johnny shook his head, grinning. "Nah man, I don't eat eggs."

Ponyboy looked his friend up and down, wondering what on earth he _did_ eat. "C'mon, you're a _twig_. Eat something. You like bacon, right?"

A shrug. Johnny stared down at his old, worn tennis shoes. He didn't like taking the food that Darry and Soda worked so hard to bring home, but he _was_ hungry. "Yeah, okay."

"Good man." Ponyboy clapped Johnny on the shoulder, noticing a slight flinch and making a mental note to ask later, then headed over to the stove. Despite the momentary distraction that Johnny had provided, once silence fell his thoughts drifted back to the dream and he found himself reliving the moment again and again.

"Pony?"

His name snapped him out of his reverie, and he looked at Johnny questioningly.

Johnny cleared his throat awkwardly. Perhaps he had been hoping for a verbal response. "Uhh… just seeing if you were, y'know, okay…"

Ponyboy sighed, prodding the bacon with a spatula. "Ionno, Johnnycake," he began, then paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "I had a nightmare last night."

Instantly, Johnny's frown deepened and he moved a bit closer to his friend, as if someone might overhear their conversation. "Did you tell Darry?"

"Well, that's the thing," Ponyboy said nervously, prodding the sizzling strips of meat once more, "I don't think this is like the other ones. I mean…" He leaned closer to Johnny, voice dropping to a whisper. "I _remember_ this one."

* * *

The house was still, save for the graceful fluttering of the curtains as a warm breeze drifted through the open windows. It was far too hot for anyone to be awake, it seemed. Far too peaceful.

Ponyboy lay in bed, curled slightly. His back was facing Soda who was, unbeknownst to himself or anyone else, breaking his 'movie star' image by drooling on the pillow. He snored softly, chest rising and falling, every once and a while murmuring something that made sense only in his dreams.

Johnny had opted to sleep on the couch that night, and was laying sprawled out, one leg dangling over the edge, his worn out sneaker hanging off his foot. He slept soundly, deeply for once, knowing he was safe if only for a little while.

Outside the house there was silence broken by the occasional yelling or the sound of police sirens. It was oddly quiet for such a rambunctious neighborhood, but there was nobody around to question it. After all, peaceful moments were few and far in between on the poor side of town.

Then, all at once, the atmosphere changed. The breeze picked up, leaves blown into small cyclones that whirled down the sidewalk before vanishing just as quickly as they had appeared. Everything suddenly seemed to become darker, more sinister.

The light from a streetlamp caught some movement. They moved together in a straight line, almost like a pack. Their suits were spotless and looked as if they had just been purchased, although one could infer, just by looking at their faces, that this was not the case. If one looked closely, he or she might have noticed that their feet never touched the ground.

The minions danced around them, arms waving frantically, faces obscured by the darkness. They stumbled along, swaying, hopping, the loose straitjackets unravelling and trailing behind them like banners. Silently announcing their presence.

Then again, everything about them was silent.

They reached their destination, the library, and paused as if considering where to go from that point. After a moment of exchanging glances, they nodded in unison and the minions were off again, continuing their crazed dance as the doors swung open with the flick of one pale, boney finger.

Up the stairs. Up into the attic where they stopped. One withdrew a box from his suit. Red and gold, ornate carvings covering the whole of it, and yet its beauty was lost somehow, as the thing carefully (silently) opened the lid and set it down upon a table. The very center. Space left for what was yet to come.

Back at the Curtis household, all was silent.

Soda's lips moved.

Nothing came out.


	3. Chapter II

_School just got out (yesterday, if this gets uploaded as late as I think it will), and I have work and softball this summer along with my extended essay. So I swear to god I'm not just sitting here going "bwahahaha… well, I suppose I'll just NEVER UPDATE MY FICS"… I really do have other stuff going on._

_I don't own this._

The first thing Ponyboy noticed was the unnecessary amount of sunlight streaming into the room through the open window. Sodapop was gone, the bed left a mess as if the older Curtis brother expected his younger sibling to make the bed. _Unlikely_, Ponyboy thought to himself as he sat up (successfully cracking his back in three places), although he knew he would end up doing it eventually.

As it was Saturday, Ponyboy felt no need to rush. Thus, he went about his morning routine as slowly as he liked, taking what some would have considered a ridiculous amount of time on getting his hair _just right_ before picking out an old t-shirt of Soda's and a pair of jeans.

After making sure the bed was made and everything was taken care of, he exited his room. The sound of the radio let him know that someone was in the kitchen. Someone, he noted with slight disgust, who liked _the news._ Didn't they know there was a perfectly good show playing quality music lurking just a few turns of the dial away?

It was when he entered the kitchen that things began to fall apart. The scene he was met with was not one that he expected. Darry stood at the stove, a look of worry on his face as he prodded a few over-done sausages that sat in the frying pan. Soda occupied one side of the table, looking lost and confused, two emotions that didn't seem to fit with his brother. Johnny sat across from Sodapop, staring off into space, his face unreadable.

"What's goin' on?" He approached the table, opting to bring Soda out of his mood first.

Silence.

_Must be getting' a cold_, Ponyboy thought, and cleared his throat.

Nothing.

Johnny looked his way, tilting his head to the side slightly as if to ask what he was doing. As if this happened every day. As if everyone just randomly lost the ability to speak all the time.

The radio crackled, static hiding the newscast for a few moments before clearing.

"_Tulsa has, it seemed, come down with a _severe_ case of laryngitis and has hereby been quarantined—_"

The quiet filled the house. It pressed against him and Ponyboy found himself wishing something would break, or a siren would break the oppressive silence. Something. Anything.

The familiar squeak of the hinges, while anticlimactic, were welcomed all the same. All four heads turned in the direction of the noise as Dallas stomped into the living room. He glanced around, located where the Curtis brothers (and Johnny) had congregated, and threw himself down in one of the old, squeaky chairs that surrounded the table.

Nobody looked at each other for a very long time.

Finally, Johnny seemed to come back to earth long enough to offer his hero a small, bleak smile. Dallas ruffled his hair, and the ice broke.

Dallas' lips moved quickly, nothing but air coming out. Ponyboy couldn't tell what was being said exactly, but from the look on Dally's face it wasn't something pleasant. When Dallas noticed the looks he was receiving from the other four, he rolled his eyes and moved his mouth slowly, exaggerating each word.

_What is going on?_

It was a lot of work for a worthless answer, as he received only shrugs in response.

Soda elaborated a few moments later, his movements equally exaggerated.

_I hope it goes away soon._


	4. Chapter III

_Lol I don't even know how long its been since I updated. It feels like years, but whatever. I don't own anything, as usual.  
**EDIT: **props to steph36 for letting me know when I made a mistake (again) XD  
_

The day was spent sitting around the Curtis' kitchen table. Sometimes they stared at the surface of the table, other times they would look at each other or at some other feature within the room. They didn't dare to venture farther than the livingroom or restroom, as if afraid to be seperated from the group. Everyone had shown up eventually, and it was the first time they had been together for quite some time.

_Feels nice_, Ponyboy thought absently as he picked at a scab on the back of his right hand, _like a family…_

Two-Bit was the first to leave, exiting silently, even taking care to close the screen door softly behind him. His absence was understandable—after all, he had a mother and a younger sister to look after—and Steve followed shortly after. His sudden departure was less understandable, but still accepted by the group. While Steve's father wasn't going to win any awards at any given point in the future, he was still Steve's father and there were times when he treated his son well.

Johnny's sudden move to get up when he noticed people beginning to leave feuled Dallas' glare. He reached out, grabbing the younger boy's arm in a tight grip. Although he did not have a voice, his eyes spoke volumes. If Johnny even _thought_ about going home, Dallas would tear him a new one, proverbial little brother or not. Just because Johnny's parents couldn't speak didn't mean they couldn't treat him poorly.

The reaction was not one that was expected from the normally meek, submissive boy. He jerked out of Dallas' grip, shooting his idol a glare of his own that told him, in no uncertain terms, to leave him alone. With that, he slipped past Soda and out the door. Unlike Two-Bit and Steve, the door slammed hard behind him. The sound made them jump, but the silence after it, the mixture of hurt and confusion in Dallas' expression, was even more unnerving.

* * *

Night fell, cloaking the silent city in darkness. A cool wind swept through, prompting Johnny to curl up into a tighter ball. He pulled the newspaper over himself, wrapping it loosely as if to make up for the fact that he was wearing insufficient clothing for sleeping out in the lot.

Something felt wrong about his choice of sleeping quarters. There was an unsettling stillness to the air despite the wind, a stale quality that settled deep in his lungs and made him gag. It smelled like death and decay, and the intensity only grew as the time went by. He tried breathing through his mouth but it clung to his tastebuds. He could _taste_ the blood and the decomposing flesh.

His heart pounding hard against his battered ribcage, he opened one eye slightly, and wished he hadn't.

They glided along the sidewalk, hands moving as if they were in an animated conversation that nobody but they could hear. The strange footfalls of the dancing henchmen met his ears, and he watched in confusion and fear as they moved down the sidewalk, turning right and heading up the walk, knocking on the door and gliding past whomever had opened it.

Johnny felt himself getting up, and wondered what he was doing. Surely his body was working against the will of his mind… surely he didn't want to see what the creatures (_monsters?_) were doing. Nevertheless, he crept toward the silent home, creeping over to the front window just in time to see the men move down a hallway. He continued on to the side of the house, standing on tip toe to see into the window of a slumbering child. His heart dropped as he saw the boy get up, moving to the door when they knocked, only to pull back in horror, trying to make a break to get around them but finding no escape as one of the henchmen (_hadn't there been others?_) blocked the way in.

They entered the room as gracefully as they had entered the house, gathering around the boy, and one produced a small, brown bag. The sort of bag that doctors used on _General Hospital_ and sure enough, the thing removed a scalpel from the bag. It turned for a moment, that smile never leaving its skeletal face, and showed the instrument to its colleagues before bending over the child, who's mouth opened in a scream.

It was soundless, ineffective as the creature held him back and, with the utmost care and precision, proceeded to cut out the child's heart. Outside, Johnny watched, speechless as the _thing_ detatched the vital organ, watched as the blood soaked into the pajamas and the carpet. The creature looked down at the heart with pride, and the others clapped silently, politely, always smiling.

The grip he had on the windowsill was making his fingers grow numb, but all that registered in his brain was the horror, the panic. They had _cut out a child's heart_…

When a skeletal, grinning face appeared at the window, Johnny turned and sprinted toward the Curtis' house.


	5. Chapter IV

_Real life is kicking my ass. Between work, school, activities and college apps I'm just gvkjdfkd. But I turned in this crazy big essay I've been working on since last year, and so I thought I'd celebrate. Hopefully I can crank this thing out in one go… I haven't done anything remotely creative in ages._

_I don't own anything._

The screen door closed with a _bang_ that sent Dallas Winston tumbling to the floor as he awoke. The action itself was not so startling as the sound, having broken the relatively silent and (therefore) uneventful day. At one point Soda had turned on the television, but the slew of news reports regarding the now silent city were far too depressing, and nothing had been watched for the rest of the day.

With nothing better to do, each individual retreated to their bed of choice. Dallas, not feeling up to making his way back to his own home, claimed the couch and had been enjoying a particularly good dream when he had been rudely awakened.

After trying to wake himself up a bit more, he got up, preparing to beat the untimely door-slammer to little more than a quivering, bloody mess. However, what he saw made him stop short.

Johnny was standing in front of the door. His back was pressed against the screen, arms splayed wide as if preventing some entity from entering the home. Dallas saw the rapid rise and fall of the younger boy's chest, although there was no breathing to be heard. Still attempting to wake himself up, Dallas hesitated before taking a few steps toward his friend.

If Johnny noticed Dallas' advance, he didn't show it. Instead, he turned and peeked out of the small window in the door then, as if seeing that the coast was clear, he turned the lock quickly and shut the screen door once more, making sure to lock it behind him.

The touch must have been unexpected. Johnny jumped when Dallas tapped his shoulder and, had the occasion been any different, such a reaction may have been amusing to witness. At that moment, however, it was worrisome. It was true that Johnny had a tendency to be jumpy, but that level of fright was not one that had been witnessed by Dallas for quite some time.

_To hell with it_, Dallas thought angrily as he forced Johnny around to face him. _Stupid kid… probably went home. Had a run in with his old man…_ if there was one man Dallas would like to get his hands on… truthfully, that list was quite extensive, but rest assured Mr. Cade was close to the top of that list.

When Johnny finally caugh sight of who it was that had touched him, he relaxed slightly. Dallas felt some of the tension leave the smaller frame, but the frightened, cornered look failed to leave Johnny's eyes.

Dallas' first instinct was to ask the kid what was going on or, more appropriately, whose ass he would have to kick to fix whatever was bothering him. However, he was reminded of the odd case of what was now being referred to as "citywide laryngitis" when nothing came out of his mouth when he began to talk.

_Well fuck._ Dallas grabbed the kid's arm and dragged him to the couch, pointing at it forcibly as if to say _sit yer ass down and don't move._ When he was certain that Johnny was going to do as he was instructed, Dallas made his way as quietly as possible to Ponyboy's room…

* * *

Johnny could talk to Dallas about what he had seen if Dallas had given him the opportunity. Ponyboy was another person Johnny felt totally at ease around. However, Ponyboy, Dallas, Sodapop, and Darry proved to be a problem. He slouched back against the couch and cast his eyes downward, feeling incredibly guilty for even thinking of barging into the Curtis' house at such a late hour and then waking them up.

The piece of paper still hadn't moved from under his nose. Dallas shook it again, almost threateningly, and jabbed Johnny's shoulder with the eraser end of a pencil. At long last, Johnny took the items and, unable to find the right words to express what he had seen, he began to draw.

To say that Johnny was a good artist was an exaggeration. His drawings were more or less stick figures with grotesque faces drawn in the style of a child just learning to hold a pencil. When he had finished, the others stared at the drawing in confusion.

Suddenly, Ponyboy's face lit up and he reached for the pencil and paper. He moved over to the wall, pressing the paper against it as he scribbled and drew pictures to illustrate his idea. The others watched; Darry and Sodapop looking as if they were ready to go to sleep where they stood.

Just as Ponyboy made his way back to the group, there was a knock on the door.


End file.
